


John

by BlueBloodstains



Category: Homestuck, The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Horrorterror/Hunger!John Egbert, I'm Sorry, I'm both homestuck and taz trash and look at where it's gotten me, John's POV, basically episode 63 but if John's last name happened to be Egbert, homestuck/the adventure zone crossover, nobody asked for this but here it is folks, you just gotta wonder "what if?" though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 08:43:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11009940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueBloodstains/pseuds/BlueBloodstains
Summary: Your name, for the first time in so,solong, is John Egbert.----“Yeah, what’s your-- what’s your name?” You inquire.“Highchurch. Merle Highchurch.”Uh, what?“Your name’s Highchurch Merle?” It suddenly hits you that he had reversed his name in an attempt to be suave. “Oh, you were doing-- okay.”(You can practically hear D̶̝̲͈̜̆ͥ̐͂ͣa̮͔͈̫̲ͪ̓̾̄̇̀͒ͅv͔̣̬͈͚͍̬ͯ̈́̍̂ͣ̍̇e̺̤̖̥͋̓̂͌’s laugh followed by a “really dude?” and K̡̥̹̐̊͛̔̿̄͗a͇͉̰͚̝ͪͤ̑r̹̭̼̹̟ͩ̋́̾͐̓͟k̜͚͎̭̫̗̗ͤ̒ͫͫ̒̚a̶͍̪̔͑̉ͭ́t̡ͣ̂̆ calling you an idiot.)





	John

Your name, for the first time in so, _ so _ long, is John Egbert.

 

You are human again. 

You’re dressed in the same attire you were in before they-

You are clothed in your favorite grey suit with your black tie, and your trademark green slimer pin affixed to your breast, and your fanciest black shoes. Across from you sits a (shirtless??) dwarf, and he looks  just as surprised as you probably do. You clear your throat ( ~~ Gog ~~ God, your throat is so dry from misuse) and make an odd croaking sound in your attempt to communicate with the first person you’ve had the chance to speak to in (years?  ~~ Sweeps? ~~ Decades?) forever. You attempt this a few more times, only to be met with the same result. On your fourth try, a pitcher of water materializes in front of you  ( ~~and you idly wonder if R̨͠o̢͟xy or ͠J̵͞a͞ḑe͜ had anything to do with that~~ ).  You pour yourself a glass and greedily gulp it down. You clear your throat once more and finally speak, your first speech in years a question.

“Okay. Okay, this is-- this is new. Were you the one that brought me here? Where-- where  _ are _ we right now?”

The dwarf answers your question, taking on a friendly smile  ( ~~you~~ ~~_ hate it _ ~~ ~~. It reminds you of y̷̸̡͞o̧ų̴͢r̶ ̷҉҉̶̕f̴͠r̨̛̕͟į̴̷͠e̶̶̕͟ņ̶͟͞͞d̵̨͟s̨̛ and how t͢҉̶̢͡h̸e҉͢͜͠y̵͠͝'̢̕͟r҉͠e͟ ̧͟n̷̨͝e̸͘v͏̶͞e̡͜҉̴r̡̨ ̴̢̧c̢͟͡o̵̧̧҉̛m̷͢͞͠i̧҉̡ņ͟g̶̴ ̶̛͠b̵̷̸̕̕a҉̸ç̛͘͡͏k̶̨̧͝͞~~ ) .

“This is the Parley room.” You cock your head.     


“The Parlor Room?” You ask.

“Yeah, let’s go with that. The Parley parlor. This is the Parley parlor.” 

He stills and you can swear you can hear another voice, but it’s faint and there’s nobody to accompany it. The dwarf’s voice grows deeper for some reason.

“It’s the Parley parlor. And this is my character voice. I would like to introduce myself. ” You almost question him on the ‘character voice’ thing, but you’ve seen and heard far stranger things during 

 

( ~~ Śͧ͊͛͒҉͈̰̭̪͇͚ḃ͈͕̹̪̌̓͗͌̈́ȗ̩̼͚ṟ̻̹̱̥̗͕͟b͙̘͆ͥͮ̃ͧ ~~ ) your life.

 

You grow tired of calling him “the dwarf”, and you deem to change that.

“Yeah, what’s your-- what’s your name?” 

“Highchurch. Merle Highchurch.” Uh, what?

“Your name’s Highchurch Merle?” It hits you that he had reversed his name in an attempt to be suave. “Oh, you were doing-- okay.” 

 

( ~~ You can practically hear D̶̝̲͈̜̆ͥ̐͂ͣa̮͔͈̫̲ͪ̓̾̄̇̀͒ͅv͔̣̬͈͚͍̬ͯ̈́̍̂ͣ̍̇e̺̤̖̥͋̓̂͌’s laugh followed by a “really dude?” and K̡̥̹̐̊͛̔̿̄͗a͇͉̰͚̝ͪͤ̑r̹̭̼̹̟ͩ̋́̾͐̓͟k̜͚͎̭̫̗̗ͤ̒ͫͫ̒̚a̶͍̪̔͑̉ͭ́t̡ͣ̂̆ calling you an idiot ~~ )

 

“And I have to ask. Do you mind telling me your name? We have labels, and I assign labels, just for people’s actions. It’s kind of a thing I do. So what actually is your name?”

You frown. 

“Uh, I don't know that I feel comfortable telling you my name just yet. We’ve only met, and sorry, this is really weird. I haven’t actually, um, been any-- anywhere in a while, so--” 

“Sure.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you. You  _ have _ to ask. 

“How did you find me? How did you pull me out, I guess?”

Merle takes a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts. 

“I have been kind of following your career, following by leading, I guess. And I am, well, I don’t always agree with everything, but I’m kind of a fan. I’ve been kind of observing, and it’s just I really want to get to know you. I think in all walks of life it’s important to know the people that you're dealing with. And, so, I wanted to get to know you a little bit better. I wanted to get to know the guy behind the suit, behind the tie, and the really nice footwear.” 

You laugh for the first time in quite a while, and catch yourself. It’s nice to know you can still do that, though.

“Oh, sorry. I just realized I haven’t laughed in awhile. I guess I haven’t done anything in a while for that matter.” You grin, the old yet familiar action refreshing. “You're not the first fan I've had or the first one to approach me, although it, again, it’s been a while.” You take a look around the room, looking for exits. The only exit seems to be the windows behind you. You may be a horrorterroreldritchmonsterplane outside of this room, but you don’t know the ramifications (or even if there are any) of death in this strange pseudo-reality. 

“Just to check, can I go whenever I want? I think I'm gonna head out.”

Merle looks disappointed, brow furrowing.

“Oh.”

You smile once more but it’s thinner this time. You’re getting slightly antsy. Your hands search for something to do,  ~~ maybe a hammer to hold ~~ .

“This has been novel, but I can’t risk getting caught in some sort of weird pocket dimension.”

Merle attempts to mollify you in his want to keep you here longer. You’re flattered, but you really want to leave.

“Oh, well, listen. I'm not gonna hold you here against your will. I don't want anybody to hang around, but I am offering kind of a quid pro quo exchange of information. I mean, you must be extremely interested in me and my friends, since, well, you've been hunting us for years and years and years.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and you push up your glasses.

“I’ve been hunting you?”

“Mm-hmm, yeah. Yeah.” 

You stand up, your legs aching in protest. The years of misuse have taken its toll, and it feels like you’ve just woken up from a year(s)-long nap.

“What are you-what are you talking about?”

“Well, the thing is, you've kind of been, well, chasing me and my friends, my family-my team as we’ve kind of hopped, skipped, and jumped around to different planes. And so yeah, I just thought maybe you’d like to get to know the guy you're tracking down and actually have killed a buttload of times.”

You scowl in confusion. This conversation is going pear-shaped exquisitely fast and you are filled with the desire to leave as soon a possible.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s taken, if I've been killing you all these times, but--”

“Well, I got better.”

Obviously.

“Well, if I've been hunting you, I don’t think I need information. It kind of seems like I've got you right here.”

You feel a slight pang of guilt (only for a moment, the pity is quick and fleeting and if you were 16 years old you’d be horrified at how easily you can bring yourself to murder an innocent but you’re not 16 and  _ isn’t that sort of the problem here? _ ), but you call on your godtier powers and the horrorterrors and a black wispy flame appears in your hand. 

You feel nothing but emptiness as you burn this dwarf from the inside out, and then you are John Egbert no longer.


End file.
